


In Charge

by nathG



Category: X-Men (Movieverse), X-Men - All Media Types
Genre: Established Relationship, F/M, One Shot, Smut
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-10
Updated: 2021-01-10
Packaged: 2021-03-14 18:14:30
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,803
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28675032
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/nathG/pseuds/nathG
Summary: Marie wants to find a way to be Logan's first. He has a suggestion.No one had ever done this to him, no one had ever seen him like that.Logan's arms relaxed, but his voice was rougher than ever, the commanding tone back, despite everything."Please, baby. Let me."He had never, ever -- she was sure of this -- had to say *please* before.
Relationships: Logan/Rogue (X-Men)
Comments: 12
Kudos: 37





	In Charge

**Author's Note:**

> This is a very explicit, very smutty scene! Read only if that interests you -- there's not much else going on in this one. :)
> 
> Still there? Ok, good. This is an established-relationship one-shot scene between Logan and Rogue where they decide to try something different. It's part of a longer story that I'm working on, but since that won't be out for probably at least a couple of months, I wanted to post something. (It's a lot more fun to share than to endlessly edit! Especially if you review! :))
> 
> Alright, here we go. I hope you took me seriously when I said *Explicit*. ;)

Marie slipped the tie from her hair and looked at herself in the mirror. Smooth skin that the lotion still damp on her face was supposed to make less red; angular eyebrows that she thought she'd overplucked; small nose with a too-wide bridge; the gap in her teeth that since age thirteen she'd been trying to force herself to love. All her life she'd been praised for her heart-shaped lips, more so after she'd learned to put just a touch of highlighter on her cupid's bow. A headband of white hair framed her features, an unusual scar that identified her as certainly as fingerprints. Her human friends in New York City used to ask if they were highlights. She used to answer yes. What else could she have said?

When she came out of the bathroom, Logan was already lying in bed, sheet pulled up to his waist. He'd be naked under it, she knew that; out of habit, but also because it would never have occurred to him not to be. Next to his nightstand lay discarded the confirmation: his jeans, shirt and undershirt in a pile, about four feet away from the laundry hamper.

"You look good."

"I do?"

"Yeah."

"Good how?" she asked, not quite sure what to expect in response. He extended a hand and she let his fingertips brush against her nightgown as she walked around the bed to her side.

"Fuckable," he said with a smirk, and she paused to wink at him from the corner of the bedroom.

"Tell me something I don't know, cowboy."

Logan put down his magazine. He consumed news almost as voraciously as she read books, over coffee in the morning and at night while she got ready for bed. Rather than join him, Marie sat in the chair near the window and swung her legs over the arm. The choice earned her a curious look.

"Whatcha doing all the way over there?"

"Watching."

"That so?"

"Yup."

"So what do you see?"

The lower half of his face was a mask of dark hair; he'd grown his beard full, and she liked the feeling of his mustache against her skin when he kissed her. His nose was thin and long, and when he smiled — or smirked, more often — his skin creased around it to underline his cheekbones. His eyes were hazel, lighter than her brown, lighter than his hair, with just a hint of green in the right light — which this was not — and set under thin, barely visible eyelashes and thick eyebrows that spelled out what he was thinking when he let them. Two short but deep lines were etched between those eyebrows, always there no matter how much she touched them. They only smoothed out in dreamless sleep or the moments after orgasm. When his shirt was off, his chest was an artist's sketch traced in contours of muscle, shaded in with short dark hair that started under his throat and trailed down to what the sheet was hiding. The thought of running her hand down to the end of that trail made her feel warm.

"What is it, kid?"

"We live together, right?"

"You gotta ask me that?"

"I mean, we're not just roommates in this mansion. Right?"

Those short lines entrenched between his eyebrows deepened. "What do you think?"

"I think we live together. Like a couple."

"Sounds good to me."

"But a lot of my stuff is in my room. So I don't know."

"You don't know?"

"I mean, I—"

He let out a breath and beckoned with one arm. "Kid, c'mere."

"It's not a big deal."

"C'mere. You're too far over there."

There was a reluctance in her movements that she wouldn't have known how to explain. The echoes of last night's fight were still in her head: her embarrassing obsession with the women in his past, his elusive answers that she knew were meant to protect her, the way he'd asked her angrily if she needed him to tell her that he loved her to know that he did. Did she need the words? Did they make a difference? After everything they had done, did anything else matter? 

She walked over lazily, and he sat up in bed to pull her to his lap, the sheet bunching around where the hair thickened, and the contact of his beard when she leaned against his chest made her shiver. How many times had that happened now? A hundred? A thousand? When would be the last one?

"You hung up on last night?"

The words were quiet, spoken to her shoulder and followed with a light, dry kiss.

"I'm sorry."

"That's alright, baby."

"I don't wanna be. What you said last night—" She leaned back, head dropping on the curve of his neck. It was enough, she wanted to say. It settled the matter. It convinced the jury. His hold on her waist tightened, and the thick ropes of muscle on his forearm shifted under her hands. "It was beautiful. Thank you for that."

Another light, dry kiss. "But...?"

She let out a small laugh. "But nothing. It's fine."

Ropes tightening.

"But you wish you were the only one. Ain't that right?"

He'd be able to smell the tears, but she was still glad he couldn't see them.

"Something like that."

"I'd change the past if I could, kid, I promise you that."

"I know," she admitted, painfully conscious of her own selfishness. "I just wanted to have something that was special. Just between you and me."

He buried his face in her neck. "This is pretty special right here."

Marie closed her eyes and wished upon a star that she could let this go. "It is."

"I wasn't your first either, kid," he reasoned, lifting his head behind her. "It ain't first that matters, it's last."

"I know, but it's easy for you to say, right? I mean, sure, you weren't my first—" She choked at the thought of saying the words _sexual partner_ or _lover_ and nodded vigorously in lieu of finding a substitute, which made him smile against her neck. "You know. But it's different for you."

"How's it different?"

"You got a lot of the other firsts." If she could have seen him, she was certain that the smile would have turned back into a smirk. "First time anal," a light, teasing bite on her neck, "first time tied up," the briefest touch of his tongue, "first time in public—"

He moved his hand up to her breast and whispered, "Baby, that was your idea," into her ear before nipping the lobe, and every hair on her body stood on end.

The heart shape of her mouth stretched into a smile. "You liked it?"

"Fucking loved it," he growled, frankly fondling her breast now, "See what you're doing to me just talking about it?"

With the arm that he had around her waist, he pulled down so she could feel him, fully erect under her body. One slow movement of his hips pressing his hardness between her legs, and the heat that had been burning melted something that seeped onto her underwear. Peeling his hands from her with some reluctance, she turned around to straddle him and felt another wave of arousal when he settled his hands on her bottom and bucked his hips again, this time right where she needed his touch the most.

"You like everything, don't you?"

His hands found the hem of her nightgown, fingers threading under the sides of her underwear, palms molding to her curves. The next time he moved, he held her down and pushed the length of his erection to rub against her, gaze fixed on hers.

She closed her eyes, overwhelmed by the intensity and vaguely lightheaded as he lowered the straps of her nightgown down her shoulders, cold air on the curve of her breasts and then her nipples, dark and small from arousal. His fingertips settled back on her hips to play scales. He was watching her again when she looked.

"What I like is seein' you like that."

"How?"

His arms fastened around her, pressing her breasts to the hair on his chest as he rubbed his cheek from her shoulder to her neck and settled his lips against her ear. 

"Wet for my cock."

Her lungs filled audibly and she circled her hips over him, earning a hard bite on her shoulder and a measure of relief from the ache building between her legs. The desire to take off her clothes overwhelmed her — she had to be naked for him, exposed in his arms. Reading it somehow, he pushed off gently, making enough room to pull her gown over her head and run his hands back down over the sides of her body from her raised wrists to her hips, holding her gaze as she shivered helplessly.

"What are you gonna do to me tonight?"

The answer was an arm around her waist and two fingers to her lips. She took them in her mouth and sucked eagerly.

"I'm gonna fuck you, baby."

He took the fingers out and circled both around her nipple, drawing a moan, and pulled her hair to get at her throat and lick it. Responding obediently as he continued to pull, she arched her back, offering him both breasts. Wetness bloomed between her thighs when he kissed one and then the other, each nipple aching painfully when untended, the wet warmth of his tongue her only hope of relief.

"That what you want?" he asked hoarsely, letting go of her hair. She sat up straight and found again that burning stare that had made her look away before. She didn't look away this time.

"I want everything."

Hazel eyes, lighter than her brown, lighter than his hair. Those lines between them, knit together tightly now as he looked at her. Broad shoulders, muscles rippling under the skin as he fastened his arms around her and rested his hands on her body, let her feel the strength that he kept so carefully leashed. She had asked him once if there was anything he wouldn't do in bed and he'd listed two things: "Get anywhere near another dick, or hit." She'd contested the second one, arguing, truthfully, that he routinely left red imprints on her buttocks, but that had made his mood darken. "That ain't _hitting_ , kid. I'm talking belts, shit like that." When asked why he wouldn't, he'd just reflected the question: "Why do you think?"

His sigh warmed her skin as he dropped his right arm and reached for the nightstand, pulling the drawer open. Their "toy chest," she called it, on his side because he was almost always the one to choose from its arsenal. That night he skipped over the small bottles and the phallic and ring-shaped items to pull out two black silk ties, each one three feet long and three inches wide. The sight dragged a flutter of sensation across her body as she thought of the other times he'd used them: her wrists roped to the headboard while he moved his hips between her legs; bound together behind her back while she knelt on the floor and he pushed himself into her mouth; and once, tied to her ankles, shins and forearms joined on the bed while he plunged into her from behind, lost in his own ruthless pleasure until she screamed into the mattress in frustration and a touch of his thumb brought her to orgasm.

With the ties bunched up in one hand, he looked at her.

"Tie me up."

Marie's eyes widened. She had asked him about it once, the first time he bound her. There was no surprise in the response he gave her: the idea of being immobilized made him uncomfortable, and he'd never tried. She didn't insist. In six years of knowing Logan, not once had she seen him stand with his back to a door. He saw danger the way other people saw color: vibrant and inescapable, part of the fabric of the world. The knowledge of his continuous hyperawareness made her appreciate the trial that it must be for him to be immobilized and the panic that it might trigger. It had made her wonder how she would feel in that position, but after the knots were tightened for the first time, she understood that it was different for her. She may have been immobilized, but Logan was nearby, unbound.

Wherever Logan was, she was safe.

"Baby, we don't have to do that."

"S'alright. Go ahead," he said, nodding curtly. She shifted in his lap to look him in the eye. The lines had softened slightly. Between their bodies, silk touched her hands and she took it uncertainly. He nodded again and the pressure of his arms eased off so she could move to kneel beside him, the bundle of ties clumped in her grasp.

Before she could move he had already shifted, moving towards the middle of the bed and looking over his shoulder to gauge his distance from the headboard. Marie looked at the ties again and then at his arms, already bent in a goalpost shape. His eyes found hers and he had to nod again to remind her to move.

"So how—"

"Just tie around the wrists. Same thing I do to you."

"Right."

Was she supposed to ask him about his safe word? He had done that twice while binding her. The first time, she'd simply told him, "We don't need a safe word, baby." He'd argued, but hadn't chosen the word for her, when he could have. The second time, she'd found an even better answer, one that had drawn a growl from his chest. They didn't have a safe word.

She felt cold all of a sudden. His arms tensed as he moved them to position and she thought to push the pillows slightly towards the middle to support his shoulders. The large wooden headboard had a rectangular frame and horizontal slats; she looped one tie through the frame and pulled it uncertainly around his right wrist, but found a shake of his head when she looked to him for confirmation.

"Not the frame. The slats."

That wasn't how he did it. The frame was more than twice as thick, whereas the slats, clearly not structural, were thin and could only take so much force. Following the movement of his wrist, she redid the restraint, this time finding an encouraging nod from him.

"Overhand knot is fine."

Handling the fabric too carefully, she looped one end over the other, fastened, and repeated the motion.

"Too tight?"

Logan shook his head. He was looking at the door.

"Door locked?"

They never locked it; he would know that. "No. Want me to lock it?"

"Yeah."

If she did it now, it would be locked before he was fully bound. He'd feel better that way. She stood up and padded to the door, turning the lock with a click, movements sluggish from a hesitation she didn't want to acknowledge. This was what she'd asked for, wasn't it? Something he'd never done before with anyone. Not the women in the bars. Not the woman he'd lived with in Vancouver. Not the woman he'd dreamed of at night. She'd be first, finally.

Turning around, she saw him on the bed, and the temperature changed again. He had a crooked smile on his face now, matching the one arm hanging from the headboard. All the muscles of his shoulders were visible, slightly tense from the position. His other arm was lowered and wrapped around his erection, moving over it slowly while he watched her appreciatively.

"Like the view, cowboy?"

"I'll like it better after you get rid of those panties, baby."

"Well, I'll like it better once I get you where I want," she said with a wink, walking over to the other side of the bed. He reached for a breast, but she slapped his wrist.

"Hand on the headboard, bub."

He obeyed with a chuckle. The second tie was quicker; she found the same slat and repeated the knot, testing the tightness without asking. Then she stepped back off the bed, admiring the results: the long muscles of his legs, relaxed on the bed; the strong arms, bent and bound; and the thick erection resting on his stomach, already crowned with a drop of liquid.

Crawling onto the mattress, she tasted it with the tip of her tongue, pleased to see him close his eyes and shudder.

"Fuck, baby."

"In a minute," she quipped, kneeling up next to him. He moved one leg, trying to loop it around her, and Marie launched herself off the bed — if he caught her in a leg lock, she might end up bound herself.

Logan eyed her from the bed, arms tense in the restraints, as she stood in front of him almost naked. The look of want on his face made a wave of arousal crash over all the parts of her that did that to him: full breasts, small waist, that last piece of clothing, soaked from her need for him, hiding what he wanted most. Watching his wrists tied against the headboard, she touched herself without thinking, hands small and soft where his would have been larger, rougher: sensitive flesh around her nipples, the glazed skin between her thighs, the spot that ached under the fabric every time she saw his shaft lying on his stomach. Every inch of its length and its girth was him wanting her, him needing her, him wanting to push himself inside her until that same overpowering pleasure that swirled in her low belly took over both their bodies.

"Baby, you're so hard."

He was looking straight at her, voice low and commanding even now.

"Ride my cock, cowgirl."

The smile played on her mouth, coy.

"No, I don't think that's what I'm gonna do."

"Suck it, baby. Play with it."

Stepping her legs another inch apart, she pushed a hand down her underwear and traced the slick lips of her sex from back to front, slowly. That gliding softness was what he was so hungry for, his veins swollen with desire, the telltale drop forming again at the tip. Watching her made his shoulders so tense that she could see every muscle now; he could break the slat if he tried, she was sure of it. All that steely strength coiled inside him pulsing for her, waiting for release. That thought throbbed inside her and she pushed the tip of her finger where he would bury himself if he was free.

"I think I'm gonna do myself first, babe."

"You gonna take off that underwear for me?"

The command in his voice wavered slightly, edged with frustration. A wicked pleasure took root as she realized she wanted him desperate, begging for scraps. 

"Not yet."

She went to sit in the chair again and he shifted over the pillows, watching her with those two lines digging deep between his eyebrows. With her hips on the edge, she spread her legs wide, hooking one knee over the arm of the chair and letting her hand trace a meandering path over her breasts and stomach before finding the fabric of her underwear and burrowing underneath. Had it really only been that night when she sat in that same chair, asking questions she should have known the answer to?

His face changed when her fingers started moving, clearly visible under the fabric made sheer by the yearning that had been pouring out of her since he'd first touched her. He bucked his hips and she knew he was imagining what it would feel like when he finally sheathed himself inside her, moving frantically towards pleasure until the fire she'd stoked so carefully burst out of control and consumed them both.

And to think she'd started that night so unsure of her own power.

"Come over here, baby. Let me touch you."

A second finger joined the first, moving in and out slowly with a gentleness that her relentless teasing had placed decidedly out of his reach.

"Touch me? Is that all you wanna do?"

"I wanna fuck you, baby. I want you dragging that pussy up and down my cock till I blow my load inside you."

The words made her dizzy. She pushed against her palm, enjoying the spike of sensation almost as much as the look on his face when everything she was feeling showed on hers.

"How much do you want it, cowboy?"

"You're gonna pay a price if I don't get to fuck that pretty pussy soon, baby."

Whatever that price may be, she looked forward to it.

"Maybe I just need the magic word, baby. It's good to have manners."

"Come over here right now and let me fuck you."

"You ever think of asking nicely?"

"What, you want me to beg?"

Marie closed her legs and leaned forward, setting her elbow on her knees and licking her fingers like candy. That made him look at the ceiling, biting his lips.

"I see how hard you are, cowboy. Is the big bad Wolverine above begging for some pussy?"

"You're digging your own grave here."

"Am I? I'm not the one who's tied up."

"Come over here, baby. Let me fuck you."

"Magic word, cowboy."

His eyes seemed unfocused, clouded by the same haze of desire that made him as hard as she'd ever seen him before. He bent a leg, dragging a foot over the bed before extending it again, pointlessly. The two lines between his eyebrows seemed deeper than ever. His biceps bulged on both arms as he pulled on the silk ties, and the thought of the wooden slat straining under the power of his muscles made her splay her legs for him again, push two fingers back inside and grip them tightly. No one had ever done this to him, no one had ever seen him like that.

Logan's arms relaxed, but his voice was rougher than ever, the commanding tone back, despite everything.

"Please, baby. Let me fuck you."

He had never, ever — she was sure of this — had to say _please_ before.

"Much better." She had to pull her hand away to keep from coming undone, wanting to delay that until they had contact. He watched the sway of her breasts as she stood up slowly and moved towards him, walking along the side of the bed, out of the reach of his legs. She climbed on just under his shoulders, kneeling in front of him as he twisted his neck to keep watching her. "But first you're gonna eat me."

Adjusting herself to straddle his body, she lowered onto his mouth, the light brush of his beard already overwhelming even over the damp fabric of her underwear. He raked the garment with his teeth and she hooked two fingers over it to pull it to the side, one hand on the headboard for balance. The world wavered when his tongue reached up, deep into her desire, and every nerve responded in alertness, skin so sensitive with want that the air itself felt like a caress. Under her, his tongue relaxed into a broader stroke over the lips of her sex before hardening again to go deeper, and a swell of arousal swept her up and collected there for him to taste. Shimmying her hips, she sank lower, forcing her hunger onto his mouth. He angled his head to suck her clitoris lightly; the pleasure built inside her until he changed angles again and she moaned when his tongue reached inside her.

One look over her shoulder let her know how much he wanted her. She stood up over him, one foot on each side of his chest, and looked down.

"You wanna fuck me?"

The wood just barely creaked when his muscles flexed again. That strength was his desire, his need for her.

"Ain't enough to fuck you, baby. I wanna rut you to the ground till you come for me so hard the only word you remember's gonna be my fucking name."

That alone made her forget some words. She bent down and tugged at the silk tie around his right wrist with fingertips, his surprised gaze fixed on her face — hazel eyes, lighter than her brown, lighter than his hair.

"Then come and get it."

With a playful tilt of her head, she pulled on the loosened knot and let the silk tie come undone.

The bedroom was too small for any chase worth the name to take place, but she still expected to get further than she did before he had slashed the second tie with a claw and sprung from the bed to go after her. One strong arm wrapped around her waist and Marie found herself tackled to her knees, somehow more thoroughly subdued than he had been while bound, and almost before she hit the ground he'd torn her panties off and entered her from behind, hard beyond measure with the arousal she'd cultivated so devotedly and that was matched in the ache finally subsiding inside her body. Gripping her shoulder for purchase he pulled her towards him, every stroke rough and punishing, too much and not enough. Her orgasm came in seconds, and his just seconds later.

They crumpled to the floor together, pulling mouthfuls of air in short bursts. She struggled for breath under his weight until her heartbeat started to come down. There was no telling how long they lay there, silent except for the sounds of heaving, before she felt him swell again inside her sex.

"Already?"

To her surprise, he pulled out and stood up, pulling her forcefully by the shoulder. When he spoke, she realized that she hadn't really heard him sound commanding. Not until now.

"Think you're gettin' away that easy?"

The powerful grip took her stumbling across the floor and eased only when he shoved her on the bed. There was no time to settle, not even to scramble onto all fours; he had both hands on her ankles already, yanking her down and setting himself over one leg to pin it under his body while holding the other in one hand.

"You think you're in charge?"

He didn't tell her to stay quiet, but she felt as if he had. His free hand dipped under the edge of the mattress as if searching for something, and she remembered that the silk ties were not the only implement they'd experimented with; under his mattress there was a four-point restraint kit that he'd tied her to before. That suspicion was confirmed when he pulled one cuff and secured it around her ankle, changing positions to do the same to the other leg. He walked around the bed to her left side. Her hands were free; she could have untied her ankles, clambered away only to be retrieved, prolonged the game.

If it was a game.

To her side, he was digging for the third restraint and fastening it around her wrist. Rather than walk around the bed, he climbed on it, moving over her easily. From her vulnerable vantage point, the closeness of his body — so much larger and stronger than hers — had an unexpectedly oppressive quality. Between her legs, fastened to their open, exposed position, his semen and her anticipation trickled down her skin.

Arousal was warm on her face, laced with something else that she couldn't recognize.

Her right wrist was captured in his hand and trapped under his ankle as he settled on his knees next to her face. Vague dizziness began to settle in again. The tip of a single fingernail traced the bony flat at the center of her chest and the hollow of her throat; she wished desperately that he would lay his hand on her breast, touch her nipples, give her his strong masculine grip where she needed it desperately, but instead he cradled the base of her skull and turned her head up and to the right. Towards him.

Not an offer, not an option. 

The silky skin of the head touched her cheek lightly, and the need for contact with his body burned deep inside her belly. He wrapped his free hand around the base and pushed inside her willing mouth. She strained forward eagerly, wanting as much of him as she could take; his hand supported her neck, fingers gripping her hair when she circled the tip of her tongue around and then over the head. The taste was a swirl of his own earthiness and her sweetness, and knowing that she was on him, her feminine flavor on his masculine body, caused that same mixture to seep from her again. He invaded her further with a slow push of the hips, a growl rumbling low in his chest when her mouth accommodated him, but — again to her surprise — he pulled out slowly, looking her in the eye.

The second time he'd asked her to choose a safe word, she'd said, "Just do whatever you want, baby."

He fastened her wrist and got off the bed, walking around to stand where she had stood earlier. It was easy to tell who cut a more imposing figure: he was over six feet tall, built of muscle layered on muscle, and had just picked her off the floor one-handed. Even if she hadn't known about the metal — even if she hadn't known about the claws — just the sight of him there, standing over her naked and fully erect, would have been intimidating.

"You ain't in charge, little girl."

Pineapple. Saxophone. Bicycle.

Looking at her, he wrapped a hand around his length and stroked himself slowly, base to tip, watching for a reaction as if he expected her to feel the calloused dryness of his hand tease the smooth skin. She practically could, knowing the touch of that hand all too well; she longed for it even now, still filled with his seed, made herself sigh with the thought of that very hand dragging over her sides, cupping her bottom, pushing between her legs as the tip of his finger teased her entrance. He was still looking at her, hand moving lazily. Every nerve in her body lit up in anticipation, and she squirmed against the restraints and found no room to move. 

The image of a belt in his hand flashed in her mind unbidden.

Logan took a step forward, still holding his erection in one large hand. His gaze settled between her legs, and she imagined what he'd be seeing.Thighs glistening from her readiness. Brown curls hiding pink, swollen lips, spread open in her defenseless position. A touch of himself around her entrance. That heady scent of his pleasure mixed with hers would be tickling his nostrils, drawing the wildness inside him. Her legs moved on their own, testing the restraints, and the speed with which he moved to hold her ankle in place shocked her. She'd seen that speed before, those feral reflexes. But he hadn't been naked and aroused, his erection bobbing obscenely as he moved. She hadn't been tied to a bed, spread-eagle, her sex exposed for the taking.

Why was a belt the example he'd chosen?

She stretched her leg slowly back into place, his grip on it firm the entire time, eyes on her. Climbing on between her legs, he stood on his knees. The memory of him taking her on the floor just minutes earlier ached inside her; the unceremonious way in which he'd entered her, the unbearable fullness between her legs, the painful thickness of his shaft between her folds. She needed him again, needed to be filled with his girth, crushed under his weight, overwhelmed by his power.

Was it because he had used a belt before?

He braced one hand on the mattress, next to her waist, and dipped his hips towards her. Once more her legs moved on their own, this time to spread as wide as the restraints allowed and present herself to him. There was little slack to adjust from their narrow position; the touch of the head alone turned into dizzying pressure, making her bite her lips. If he noticed, he paid no mind, setting both hands on the mattress now and using their strength to force himself into her, his length seemingly interminable as he pushed on, hard and pulsing, his thickness impossible inside her tightness.

Did he refuse to use one again because he hadn't liked it?

Then she was full, completely full, taking air in through her mouth, but he gave her no time, no space, no mercy before shifting his legs for purchase and withdrawing only to thrust in deeper. Every inch of her skin was alight with desire, begging for his touch. She pulled again on the restraints, angling to buck her hips and rub herself on him shamelessly, all sense of propriety erased by the demands of her body. But his arms kept him hovering just above her; the only contact between them were the punishing strokes of his sex inside hers. Hardness to her softness. Male to her female. The rhythm built and she bit back a scream, the bundle of nerves between her legs swollen with neglected need as he filled her and filled her and filled her again, relentless in his selfish quest to sate himself with her body.

Or had he liked it too much?

Surprising her again, he pulled out and knelt between her legs, menacingly tall as he stimulated himself with one hand. Her tongue darted out instinctively and when he used one arm to plunge forward over her body she caught the taste of his first spurt on it, sheer arousal pinching her nipples painfully while he continued to pump and let his release fall on her, one thick rope drizzled over her breast and the rest pooling on her stomach. His breath was labored and the tension visible when he rolled to the side, away from her body. The hand he'd used to reach orgasm spread a swath of his semen over her breasts; that brief touch set her on fire, and she whimpered helplessly, still bound to the bed.

He stood up, visibly tired, and walked over to the cuff that held her right hand.

"I oughta leave you tied up, girl."

But he didn't. He released her hand and she touched herself instantly, desperately, climaxing as soon as there was pressure on her clitoris. After she'd exploded, heart beating wildly, breath still ragged, her eyes opened to find him towering over her at the edge of the bed, looking straight into her eyes. Not hazel anymore. Something different. Something darker.

"Now you know who's in charge."

**Author's Note:**

> Hm, for whatever it's worth, personally I think you should always have a safe word. :)
> 
> Thanks to AvaRip for feedback on my first draft! (And for her encouragement, numerous insights on the characters, and general awesomeness. :))


End file.
